


Forever and Always

by kaeorin



Series: Loki's Lullabies [150]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Avenger Loki (Marvel), Avenger Reader (Marvel), Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Insecurity, M/M, Reader-Insert, Self-Esteem Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:53:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26056765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaeorin/pseuds/kaeorin
Summary: Loving Loki isn’t always easy, but goddamn if it isn’t worth it.
Relationships: Loki (Marvel)/Reader
Series: Loki's Lullabies [150]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1678240
Comments: 21
Kudos: 218





	Forever and Always

**Author's Note:**

> Ah, this is it! Now that I have posted this 150th Lullaby, I have to take a short hiatus so I can focus on doing stuff for the job that pays my bills. This will be the last Lullaby until the first or second week in September (so...really not that long from now), at which point I will start posting one Lullaby each week on Sunday evenings/nights. I hope there are enough Lullabies in this series that you can go back and find one that feels new if you have a really bad day while you're waiting and you need some Loki-love. I love you all so, so _very_ dearly, and I can't put into words how phenomenal it's been to have so many people leave such beautiful words on these stories. Maybe it makes me want to cry. Thank you. Thank you. _Thank you_. I'll be back soon. Hang in there, loves.

It was not easy, being in love with Loki. It was hardly _his_ fault, given all the things that you knew about his life before you met him, but he could be a tad overwhelming, sometimes. His spirit was just so...large. There was so much to him, so much life and contradiction and, yes, mischief. For the most part, you adored everything about him. Really, the only problem you had was with how he made you see yourself. Compared to him, you were… stodgy. You were boring. He was light and life and excitement and you were far too similar to Tolkien’s Hobbits, but the boring extras who sneered at adventure—certainly not Bilbo.

Though you tried— _hard_ —you simply could not figure out what he saw in you. Growing up, people and teachers and even mere acquaintances had always called you an old soul, whatever that meant. Now it meant that you were the kind of person who generally preferred to stay home and partake in your old-lady hobbies like knitting or reading instead of going out with the team to drink and party and just feel young. The best you could figure, after hours and hours of musing, was that Loki liked talking to you. Maybe all that reading you’d done meant you were slightly more intelligent than the average human, at least when it came to the sorts of things that Loki liked to talk about. You considered yourself fairly average, especially surrounded as you were by the absolute best of the best of humanity, but when you started chatting with Loki about philosophy and literature, those conversations could go on for hours.

One night, after the two of you had sat there knee-to-knee on the sofa talking about a book you’d both just finished reading, you’d said something about one of the characters and made his face absolutely light up. You loved when you did that. He was so beautiful, especially when he looked that happy, and maybe a lovely little thrill ran through you each time you were the one to make him smile so brightly. You’d bitten your lip and tried to look away so that he wouldn’t be able to see your pride, your hunger, but then he’d taken you face in his hands—so gently, like it was something precious—and brushed his lips against yours. 

Everything in you was screaming for you to pull away before he could, to laugh off what was surely a prank before he could give you that sly grin he wore when he’d gotten someone good. But, selfishly, you’d leaned even closer and kissed him back. If this was only a prank or a mistake borne of exhaustion, you certainly wanted to make the best of it. If he was surprised by your reaction, he did not show it. His lips parted and you followed suit before he could seek permission with his tongue. Your hands came up to rest against his forearms, squeezing gently as he explored your mouth. As he tasted you. Your mind was spinning. Was he this good at kissing, or was that simply how Asgardians kissed? 

He was the first to break the kiss, but you didn’t have time to mentally berate yourself for not pulling back first because then he was pressing his forehead to yours and gazing at you with soft eyes. “Forgive me,” he said softly, earnestly. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time now, and you just looked so lovely sitting there.”

“It’s okay.” Compared to his, your voice sounded so rough, so wobbly. You swallowed and forced yourself to continue on instead of sitting there and staring blankly at him. “Um. It was...nice? If… you know...if you ever want to do it again, that would be… Okay.” Your face burned. You sounded so stupid. He could shape his words into purest poetry with very little warning and you had to struggle to form coherent sentences. You didn’t let yourself look at him, but you felt the way he caressed your cheeks with his thumbs.

“I’m so glad to hear that,” he’d murmured, and immediately slanted his lips over yours again.

And that was that. The two of you became A Thing. Whatever he saw in you, whatever drew him to you, you were intensely grateful for it. You knew that he was not a particularly open person. He was hard to read at the best of times, and there were always, always those tall stone walls around his heart. But he let you peek inside them, sometimes. If he slept over, or if you slept over, he would hold you so tenderly at night and whisper quiet stories or confessions to you in the darkness.

Eventually, he spoke of his childhood, the palace, his parents. You came to hate his father, but your heart ached for his mother. In the darkness, you told him how wrong Odin was, how wrong his people were, and you assured him over and over again, with a voice that cracked and broke, that he was so much more than they said he was. That you adored him. He didn’t have much to say, but you told yourself that he held you a little more tightly those nights.

Loki was not accustomed to love. Even if he hadn’t told you about his family, you would have known that by yourself. Sometimes he got into these moods, these periods of darkness, when your best attempts at soothing him only seemed to make him feel worse. You knew when they were coming on. He started to act a little odd. He’d touch you with an uncharacteristic hesitation in his fingertips. If you tried to look at him, he’d pull away and say something in that cool, aloof voice of his that might have hurt your feelings if you didn’t know him better. You’d tried pulling him closer, tried wrapping your arms around him and telling him that, no matter what he did or thought, you weren’t going to leave him. All too often, even that only made things worse. 

So you’d also tried snapping back at him. You’d offer up sharp comments with just the tiniest hints of venom any time he started saying things that might have hurt your feelings. You wanted to show him that you were stronger than he thought. You could take whatever it was that he dished out when he got into these moods because it was all worth it when he felt better and took you into his arms. “You’re not going to drive me off like this,” you’d warned him once, hands on your hips and eyes narrowed. “If you want me gone, Loki, then you’re going to have to come right out and say it because I know you well enough to think that’s _not_ what you’re trying to do here.” It was presumptuous and incredibly risky, but you really were fairly certain that he was not trying to hurt you so you’d leave him. 

He’d looked at you with a tempest raging behind his eyes, but he didn’t say a word in response. Instead, he’d turned around on the ball of his foot and stalked out of the room. As soon as he was gone, you started to miss him. Maybe you loved him. Maybe you were just pathetic. But if you had to choose between having him there with you but grumping and shouting at you and not having him there at all, you’d choose him every time.

In the morning, there was a bouquet of flowers outside of your door—your favorites—and a little note: “Don’t let me drive you off.”

Despite the front he put up for others, and the air of smug superiority he so often carried with him, something told you that he didn’t feel worthy of whatever this was. The idea was laughable, but you couldn’t shake it. You weren’t anything special. Your love certainly wasn’t anything special. You loved him because he was _him_. It had nothing to do with you. But your mind kept circling back to his stories of his childhood, the way his father would look at him, and it only made you more and more certain that you were right. When he got into those moods, it was only because he thought you deserved someone better.

One night, you let it slip that you often felt the same way—but about _him_. It was a good night, one where you were wrapped in his arms and his lips were pressed to the top of your head. It was hard to say exactly what had come over you, but you hid your face in his chest and found the courage to ask him: “Are you bored?”

Of course, he’d laughed. “It’s two o’clock in the morning and I have my pretty love nude in bed beside me. ‘Am I bored?’ What could possibly have made you ask such a thing?” He squeezed you a little more tightly but did not force you to lift your eyes to look at him. That was a good thing. Your cheeks were flaming hot. 

“Not right this second.” Language was hard. This sort of question was hard. “Like… it’s okay to get bored with me sometimes. I just want you to know that, I guess.” Maybe this had been weighing on you especially heavy since your last mission. Nat had been remarkably chatty, and the stories she told you were just...unthinkable. You’d seen the way Loki’s eyes flashed with excitement as he listened in. You were brave enough to be on the team, sure, but you had never been, and would never be, the type to strike out on adventures in your free time just for the hell of it. You didn’t have a lot of stories like Nat’s, like Loki’s, like Tony’s. 

He didn’t respond for a long time. You told yourself that maybe he’d never really thought about how boring you were before, and now you’d just gone and ruined things. You told yourself that he was trying to figure out how to assure you that you weren’t boring but also, how to do it without having to lie to you. You closed your eyes and nestled yourself even closer to him, just in case this was it. You had to soak in every last bit of him and make sure to imprint this moment indelibly into your memory, just in case this was the _last_ moment with him.

“Never in all my life have I allowed myself to entertain the idea of being loved the way that you love me.” He paused for a long time, then, and despite your pessimism, you got the feeling that he was just making sure that you were still awake. That you were still listening. You drew in a deep breath and nodded to show him that you were. He closed his fingers around the back of your neck. “I have _never_ known anyone who makes me feel the way you make me feel. When you look at me, it’s like you’re trying to see beyond the surface. And I’ve shown you plenty of things that could have repulsed you. But you just keep looking at me the way you always do. Every time I tell you something that I am certain will finally make you want to leave, you just wrap yourself around me and tell me again that you love me. Do you know how _foreign_ that is to me?”

He trailed off, and silence fell between you. It was heavy. He was waiting for an answer. In truth, you were regretting ever having brought this up. You should have known better. You should have expected that he would have responded with something like this. But sometimes you just couldn’t help but compare yourself to him, and just...obsess over how different you were. You bit your lip and ground your forehead against his chest. “I’m sorry—”

“No. Stop right there. The way that you look at me and touch me and kiss me, darling… You make me want to be better in hopes of ever deserving someone like you. But I also know that you have never once questioned whether I do deserve you. If I ever in my life become someone worthy, someone decent, know that it will be entirely because of you. And please— _please_ , my love, listen well to me now—never question how much I want you.”

Maybe your eyes burned with tears that threatened to spill over. Maybe you tightened your arm around him until your muscles trembled, and you still only wished you could hold him closer. You could hear his heart beating in his chest, much faster and more frenzied than usual, and you kissed his skin right above it over and over again. 

When you finally regained control over yourself again, you lifted your chin to look up at him. His eyes were already fixed on you. “You do the same,” you managed. There was no way that you’d ever figure out your own poetic way of repeating the same sentiment to him, but right now it felt like that didn’t matter. “Don’t let your bad days tell you that I don’t want you. I love you, Loki, forever and always. Okay?”

Something in his face softened a bit, and he stroked your cheek. He gave the tiniest of nods and then offered you a smile. “Forever and always.”


End file.
